


Revolutionaries

by wheel_pen



Series: Venkii [8]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A distress call from a planet causes conflict between the Enterprise and the Venkii. This story is unfinished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revolutionaries

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Venkii are humans who left Earth long ago, and have a few extra enhancements by now. Mila is a young Venkii woman who has joined the crew of the Enterprise, in Engineering. She can communicate with the ship in a special way.
> 
> 2\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

            Drumming one's fingers on something was an irritating habit. Mayweather, Hoshi, and Reed knew this all too well, as Captain Archer had a tendency to do this whenever he got bored. Malcolm, the only one of the three in a position to notice, had sworn that once he'd spotted T'Pol staring at the Captain's thumping fingers with such intensity, it was a miracle her gaze hadn't melted the tips off. The latest modifications Trip had made to the Captain's chair had helped somewhat; with a keypad at the end of each arm, now if Archer drummed his fingers he ended up contacting six departments, changing the ship's course heading, and possibly launching a torpedo (they had never been sure if Trip was joking about that last one or not). The Bridge crew thought the bored finger-drumming had finally been conquered.

            Well, it had been. But now Archer had to find _new_ tics to display when he was bored. Mostly this involved _fidgeting_ —crossing and uncrossing his legs, shifting in his seat, leaning on first one elbow then the other. Mayweather at least had his back to the Captain and Hoshi could angle her chair away, but Malcolm was stuck staring at him for an entire shift, and the others still had to _hear_ the little sighs and squeaks. So far they had not been able to decide if they were better or worse off.

            And today looked like it was going to be another one of those days, unfortunately. The best thing T'Pol's scans had come up with nearby was a trinary star system with three gas giants, so that's where they were headed. Whoo, as far as just about everyone on the ship was concerned. Maybe a couple of the xenophysicists would get a kick out of it, but that was about it. The best thing Malcolm felt he could hope for at the moment was for the Captain to get _so_ bored he actually gave the Bridge up to T'Pol and went into his Ready Room to watch water polo. At least T'Pol sat quietly in the command chair, poised on the edge, back ramrod straight, not fidgeting, not sniffling, not clearing her throat every fifteen seconds.

            Archer seemed _just about_ ready to give in when Hoshi looked up from her station. Every person on the Bridge attuned themselves to her words. "Captain, we're receiving a distress call." Well, too bad of course that someone was in trouble. But otherwise— _hooray_! At least they might be able to _do_ something now.

            Straightening masterfully in his chair, Archer nodded at her. "Onscreen."

            The large viewscreen at the front of the Bridge flickered and crackled; Hoshi's fingers flew over her console, trying to amplify and clarify the signal. The man on the screen seemed generally humanoid, though his exact features were difficult to make out. He didn't appear to be calling from another ship; what looked like sunlight poured in through a window beside him. "... _medical emergency... request immediate assistance... unknown contaminant in water or soil_... _not contagious_..."

            "It's a recording, sir," Hoshi pointed out. "It just keeps repeating."

            "Where's it coming from?" Archer asked.

            T'Pol parsed the coordinates Hoshi sent her. "The Quitana system," she informed them. "Approximately zero-point-seven-five lightyears from our present course. Two planets, one _Minshara_ -class."

            Archer frowned at her. "You didn't mention there was a _Minshara_ -class planet nearby this morning."

            T'Pol keyed her console a few more times. "Early Vulcan surveys indicated the civilization was pre-industrial," she replied coolly. "Unsuitable for contact."

            The Captain turned back to his Communications Officer. "Hoshi, any chance that message was just meant for the rest of their planet?"

            "I don't think so, sir," she told him after a moment. "The signal is much too powerful. And he specifically mentions 'ships within range.'"

            "Well," Archer decided, "try to contact them. We can be vague about where, exactly, we're calling from, if we need to be," he added, sensing T'Pol's warning gaze.

            Hoshi nodded dutifully and worked her controls. Everyone sat in quiet anticipation for a few minutes. Finally the ensign announced, "I think I've got them, sir. The connection isn't very good, but it's the best I can do."

            Archer stood in front of his chair and nodded at her. "Let's have it."

            Again the screen popped to fuzzy, scratchy life. This time a woman stood in the sunlit room, squinting at the screen and obviously jiggling the controls to improve the reception. " _Hello?_ " she asked into the viewer. " _Hello? Who's there?_ "

            "Um, hello," the Captain responded. "This is Jonathan Archer. We heard your distress call."

            " _Thank goodness!_ " the woman sighed with relief. " _How far away are you?_ "

            "Not far," Archer replied vaguely, glancing at T'Pol. "A few hours. Your automated message said something about a medical emergency?"

            " _Yes, yes, it's terrible_ ," the woman insisted. " _Nearly a third of the village so far, and the other villages getting just as bad._ "

            "Perhaps my doctor can speak with yours," Archer suggested.

            " _That would be wonderful_ ," the woman told him, visibly relieved. Archer had no doubt she was sincere. " _It's something in the water or the soil, or maybe radiation, we aren't sure—but even the animals and the plants are dying_." She glanced over her shoulder a bit furtively, then continued in a softer voice. " _I'm sure with your technology you'll be able to figure out the problem right away. We just don't have the—equipment for that_."

            Another figure suddenly appeared in the room behind her. " _Helena? Helena, who are you talking to? Did someone answer?_ "

            It was the man in the original message. " _Yes_ ," Helena told him excitedly, " _yes, a ship has responded. They aren't far away._ "

            Archer glanced at T'Pol, who indicated she had no way of ascertaining if the woman really meant a starship or not. The man was now peering at the viewer, almost suspiciously. " _I am Brendan, the Head Man of this village,_ " he announced. " _Who are you?_ "

            "Jonathan Archer," the Captain repeated. "I'm the captain of... this vessel."

            " _And what is your vessel_ _called_?" Brendan persisted.

            " _Enterprise_ ," Archer replied, slightly mystified.

            Brendan seemed reassured by this news. Perhaps they'd learned to fear certain other species, whose names followed different patterns? " _And you will help us, Captain Archer?_ " he continued hopefully.

            "We'll do whatever we can." Archer smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way. "We're only"—he glanced at T'Pol, who supplied quietly, "One-point-eight-three hours"—"two hours away." He felt her chiding glare for the imprecision. "I was just saying that perhaps our ship's doctor could speak with yours, to start preparations."

            " _I don't know..._ " Brendan responded uncertainly, and Archer was surprised by his hesitation. " _There's not a lot of power left in the communications array_." Indeed, the picture had been growing steadily fuzzier. " _It's solar-powered, the fuel cells need time to recharge, and we'll need it for when you arrive..._ "

            "It's up to you," Archer assured him, privately disagreeing. It wasn't as if this village would be hard for _Enterprise_ to locate, and he would rather have Phlox on the line with someone down there getting the details of the situation beforehand. The woman had seemed earnest in her assertion that the illness was not infectious, but he knew Malcolm would shortly be warning him of deception and T'Pol would be pointing out the possibility of a mistake.

            " _Please, contact us again when you reach our planet, Captain_ ," Brendan decided firmly. " _We appreciate your assistance more than you can imagine, but we must... explain our customs to you before you come down here_."

            "Customs?" Archer repeated dubiously.

            The picture was flickering so much now it was almost impossible to see the speaker. " _Thank you so much, Captain Archer_ ," Brendan repeated. " _Please, contact us when you get here._ " With that, the picture wavered one final time then went black.

            "Sorry, sir," Hoshi apologized. "I can't tell if they cut us off deliberately, or if their power just gave out."

            Archer sat quietly for a moment, thinking. Then he stood. "Travis, set a course for this planet. Senior officers, reports in half an hour. T'Pol, let Phlox know what's going on. You have the Bridge." He disappeared into his Ready Room, probably to start looking up information on the system. Or perhaps to watch a bit of water polo.

 

            Mila was lying on the floor in Engineering, one hand splayed on the deck plating beside her and one resting on the J12 array in the wall, which had been experiencing what Ensign Ramirez helpfully referred to as a "hiccup." Tracking down this "hiccup" involved Mila following pulses of energy through the array, basically letting the information it carried flow through and around her like a warm, gentle stream. Ramirez would have spent several hours with four pieces of equipment squinting and swearing over minute, momentary energy differentials; for Mila it would be like half an hour at the spa. If she could even stretch it out that long.

            Trip glanced over at her from his position before the warp reactor controls and smirked a little. "Don't get too comfortable over there," he warned. "I've got a whole list buildin' up for you."

            She glared without opening her eyes, but only for a moment. The information flow was too relaxing. In fact she usually did the exact same thing right before going to sleep each night, so her main concern was not conking out right on the Engineering deck. She knew Trip would never let her forget _that_. Disappointingly soon Mila found the blip and, with a minor realignment, eliminated it. She wondered how long she could lie here until Trip noticed the problem had been fixed.

            Something suddenly caused the information currents around her to ripple and turn, if such a thing could be described in tangible terms. "We've changed course," she murmured, idly curious.

            "Yeah? Where we goin' now?" Trip asked, more focused on his engines. Last he'd heard they were still after some gas giants, something that had absolutely nothing to do with anything he was interested in.

            Mila probed a little farther into the information, then frowned, her eyes popping open. "Quitana system," she answered, after a moment.

            Trip shrugged. "Never heard of it." He glanced at a panel. "Hey, you caught the hiccup. Good job. Check out the F11 relay next, would ya? It's a little sticky."

            Shaking her muscles back into action, Mila climbed to her feet with a pensive expression. "I have to talk to the Captain," she mentioned, in passing, as she headed towards the door.

            Trip did a double take as she left. "Don't ask my permission or anything!" he called after her sarcastically. "Not like I'm your commanding officer..." Rolling his eyes, he went back to his work.

 

            The door chime sounded and Archer hastily paused the water polo game he had playing in one corner of his screen, hiding it under a rather dry report from the Vulcan Science Directorate about the system they were headed to. He knew he could study both at the same time. He just didn't think anyone _else_ knew that. "Come in."

            To his surprise Mila stepped through the door. He greeted her and remarked, "You don't get up to the Bridge much these days."

            "No, sir," she replied, something obviously on her mind. "I've been occupied in Engineering."

            "Well, I'd love to hear how you've been getting along," Archer began regretfully, "but unfortunately a situation has come up and—"

            "We're going to the Quitana system," Mila supplied. "We received a distress call."

            One of these days Archer would learn that nothing that happened on the ship's computer was outside of Mila's notice. "Yes, that's right," he confirmed unnecessarily. "We'll be there in about an hour and a half. I was just about to have a briefing with the senior staff." There was something in her posture, something almost _agitated_ , that made Archer look at her more sharply. "Is there some kind of problem?" He well knew that Mila's "feeling" about the ship not running correctly had saved them on more than one occasion, but in such cases she was usually in his Ready Room with Trip at her side, to either support or knock her warnings.

            "The Quitana system," she repeated vaguely, searching for the right words.

            Archer raised his eyebrows in some surprise. "Have you heard of this system before?"

            "Yes," she replied slowly. "It's, um..." She was outright pacing now and Archer watched her, bemused. "It's forbidden. I guess that's  the way to describe it."

            "Forbidden?" the Captain repeated. "By whom?"

            "The Venkii." Archer gave her a questioning look. "It-it's more the people, who are forbidden."

            "The people on the planet? The ones who sent out a distress call?"

            "Yes," she confirmed. "They're—like outcasts."

            Archer opened his mouth to demand a more detailed explanation when his comm beeped. " _Senior staff have assembled for the briefing, Captain_ ," T'Pol informed him.

            "Be right there," he assured her, standing. "Well, come on," he added to Mila, gesturing her towards the door. "You can just explain it to everyone." She did not look particularly happy about the prospect.

            "T'Pol, a little background, if you please," Archer requested as they stood around the console at the back of the Bridge.

            Schematics of a system popped up on the screen. "At 1045 hours today, we received a distress call from the larger of the two planets in the Quitana system," T'Pol reminded them. "This is a _Minshara_ -class planet, home to a population of approximately nine thousand humanoids who were reported to be at the pre-industrial level of development."

            "Nine thousand," Mila muttered under her breath, gazing at the schematic. She seemed surprised, though whether the number was larger or smaller than expected was difficult to say.

            T'Pol glanced at her for a moment, then continued. "Information was collected on them briefly by a Vulcan survey ship twenty-seven years ago. They have not been approached since, due to the low level of technical achievement."

            "This medical emergency the villagers spoke of, Captain," Phlox put in, having seen a recording of the earlier conversation. "The woman seemed very certain that it was a contaminant of some kind, presumably one which has only recently begun to affect the living creatures in their area of the planet. Possibly there has been some kind of pollution of their entire groundwater supply. It's difficult to assess without seeing any data or being able to ask questions of anyone."

            "It seems very suspicious to me, sir," Reed opined, to no one's surprise. "If _I_ had some sort of plague running rampant through my people, I certainly wouldn't broadcast that it was contagious to the people I wanted help from."

            "You'd just wait until they'd already been exposed, _then_ mention that little fact?" suggested Archer.

            "Absolutely, sir," Malcolm confirmed, straight-faced. "And their communications array ran out of power at a very convenient moment in the conversation."

            "Which also brings up the question, what is a pre-industrial society doing contacting spaceships with an advanced communications array?" Archer mused.

            "They're not—they're not pre-industrial," Mila spoke up, hesitantly. Everyone turned towards her in curiosity. "I mean, not really. Or rather, they are _now_ , probably, but they didn't used to be."

            "Could you elaborate, Ms. Archelus?" T'Pol requested.

            "They're—It's not really, um... It's not really something we talk about," Mila continued awkwardly, and Archer was suddenly reminded of her father first trying to explain the unusual abilities of the Venkii women. "It's a forbidden system. By the Venkii. _For_ the Venkii, I guess is more accurate... I mean, no Venkii has been there in, I don't know, two hundred years." Clearly uncomfortable with the topic and everyone's increasingly confused expressions, she hurriedly added, "There's supposed to be alarm beacons orbiting the planet. If we trigger them, all the Venkii ships will know, and someone will come here to check on us."

            "You haven't called your father, have you?" Archer asked, a little more suspiciously than he intended.

            "No, sir," Mila answered immediately, her tone just a tiny bit hurt. "But they'll know soon enough, and whichever ship comes, it won't take them long to get here."

            "Are you suggesting the Venkii will attack _Enterprise_ for approaching this planet?" Reed questioned.

            "I don't know," Mila admitted. "I don't think they'll be very happy about it. I can't see them actually attacking, though."

            "You said a minute ago the people on this planet were 'outcasts,'" Archer reminded her. "They seem pretty harmless so far. What is it about them the Venkii don't like?"

            "They're—also Venkii," Mila revealed, quickly adding, "Sort of. They used to be."

            "They _used_ to belong to your species," T'Pol restated dryly, "but they no longer do? That is illogical, Ms. Archelus."

            "They don't _want_ to be Venkii," Mila tried to explain. "And most Venkii don't want to claim them. It's—ideological."

            Archer rolled his eyes, immediately losing interest. "Well, ideological differences aside, if they're really in such dire need of medical assistance, I don't see any reason not to help. After taking proper precautions," he added, foreseeing Malcolm's objection.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I didn’t finish this one. The colonists are Venkii who broke away from the space-faring group years ago to live settled lives, and are now considered revolutionaries and outcasts. Anyone who goes near their planet risks the punitive wrath of the Venkii. Naturally Archer goes anyway, and Archelus follows. Perhaps eventually there can be a rapprochement between the two groups.


End file.
